First Day
by coonskin
Summary: A four-part look at Buck's first day as a free, unsuspected member of the 25th century.
1. Chapter 1

He woke up for the fifth time that night from another dream that he was back home. In this one, he wasn't reliving Ranger's disaster, though that dream had already checked in twice. This time, he was watching his loved ones reading his obituary and talking about losing him. They couldn't see or hear him, no matter what he did. His parents, his siblings, Jennifer, Toby - all proceeding on with their lives, mourning him but having each other.

The lights in the apartment were dimmed, but the very smell of the place, slightly institutional and sterile, informed Buck even before he opened his eyes where he was. No, the dream hadn't been the reality. Well, it probably had for those back then, but his reality was here, now, in the 25th century.

The 25th century.

Part of him was still waiting to wake up and discover that _this_ had been the dream, that he really was back where he belonged. After several nights, nights in which he hadn't yet had a sound, uninterrupted several hours of sleep, he was starting to accept that that wasn't going to happen.

Buck sat up, and the lights politely reacted to the motion and brightened up to normal levels. He looked over at the chronometer, as computerized as the whole rest of this world, but it did inform him it was morning. He wished for a nice ticking clock on the wall, then wondered if anyone here had ever seen such a thing.

He looked around the apartment. It was in one of the buildings in the vast Defense Directorate complex. Dr. Huer had taken him here yesterday afternoon and told him that he was welcome to stay here as their guest for as long as he wished. Buck's independence had threatened to flare up, but after the long day yesterday and his experiences on board the Draconia, he was tired, stiff, and sore, and it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go anyway. He had accepted their hospitality for the moment. At least this clearly was an apartment, not a holding cell or examination room. He was moving up in this world.

This was his first real day here in the 25th century, he realized. There had been a handful of days already, though they wouldn't yet total a week, but on those, he had been a suspect under detention and then a convicted criminal. Now, for the first time, he could walk out that door freely and do whatever he wanted. Nobody would stop him. He could leave the Defense Directorate and go . . .

Where? He'd seen the wreck of Chicago, and in spite of his joking statement to Wilma that he liked it, he was appalled. Such a monumental difference. His experiences out there had been enough to convince him that their tales of a holocaust were accurate. So the choices were life in a sterile, computerized city bubble or a devastated wasteland of mutants.

Buck sighed and stood up, wandering around the apartment. It came furnished after a fashion, but he wished for some color. He'd give anything for a houseplant. Probably any surviving ones were in a museum somewhere. Well, they had to have stores, didn't they? Malls? Something? He decided that he would spend today trying to find some personal touch to put in this place and also exploring the inner city some more.

Of course, there was the issue of money. He'd been told that the system wasn't like it used to be, which would at least make it match everything else. Still, they had to have some kind of currency and some system of jobs and wages.

Jobs and wages. He sighed again. Yesterday afternoon, after they had returned from space with the Draconia blasted into oblivion, Dr. Huer and Wilma had invited him to join the Defense Directorate.

He simply couldn't do it. Not yet, anyway. The unreality of all of this still hovered over him; he couldn't just replace the life he'd had so quickly without more time to adjust. They had said they understood, and they had put him up in this apartment anyway, but living here without rent bothered him. For all his free spirit and joking front, Buck took obligations very seriously.

Well, he'd look around for today, at least, and start getting to know this city. Maybe he could find something to do while he progressed to the point that he could at least sleep at night.

Food was another issue. He had had several of the food discs by now, and the things were so completely flavorless and boring that he was starting to imagine other uses for them: Hockey puck, 25th-century building blocks. Was there any actual food around here? This apartment had a small food preparation area, which seemed to imply that not everything came in a ready-to-go disc.

He added that to his agenda for the day. Find some food, find a mall, maybe if he got lucky find a houseplant. What goals for the day those were! A job. Don't forget a job, Buck.

He picked up a food disc for breakfast from the supply that came with the other furnishings of the apartment, and then he put it back down untasted. He'd skip breakfast and look for real food first.

He was almost to the door when the chime sounded, startling him. He pushed the control panel at the side, and the door swished open to reveal Colonel Wilma Deering, in uniform, smiling at him.

"Good morning, Buck. Would you like to have breakfast with me?"

With or without food discs, he wondered, but she was an attractive and intriguing woman, and she was welcome company from his thoughts. He returned her smile. "Sure, why not."


	2. Chapter 2

She had been afraid he wouldn't even still be there.

She'd said as much to Dr. Huer last night after Buck had been installed in one of the Directorate apartments. "For the moment, at least. He probably left five minutes after you did."

Huer shook his head. "I don't think so, Colonel."

Wilma had been feeling rattled by Buck's turning down their invitation to join the Directorate; she didn't want to admit to herself how much it mattered that she see him again. "He's already taken off once to the outer city, and he would have twice if we hadn't stopped him."

Dr. Theopolis gave a polite flash of lights a second before entering the conversation. "Buck was trying to find his world again. For all he knew, it was out there waiting for him. I do believe he has seen enough now to realize the error of that hypothesis."

"We _told_ him it wasn't there," Wilma protested.

Huer shook his head. "If someone you had never met before suddenly appeared and told you that everything you've ever known is destroyed and every person you've ever known is dead, would you just meekly accept that as fact without demanding some proof?"

Well, when he put it that way. "No," Wilma admitted. "But what is he going to do now? He refused to join us. I can't see him just sitting around that apartment doing nothing. He'll probably head straight out to somewhere else."

"I really don't think he's going anywhere tonight," Dr. Huer stated.

"Did you leave a surveillance drone?" she asked hopefully.

"No. He is totally free to walk out if he wishes, but I don't think he will."

"Based on _what_?" she demanded.

"For one thing, he's worn out tonight. I'm hoping that by leaving him alone, something that we haven't really done so far, he'll be able to get some rest."

"He did look pretty tired," she agreed. "He's had a full day today."

"Not only that, but he hasn't been sleeping well since his awakening," Theo commented. "We have, as Dr. Huer said, had him under monitoring at every moment, a fact that he knew. He hasn't had a single sound night's rest since he arrived."

"Yes, that's true. Perhaps we shouldn't have asked him to join the Directorate this afternoon as soon as the two of you returned, but I . . ." Dr. Huer paused and smiled. "I must admit, Colonel, I, too, wanted to get him officially aligned with us as soon as possible, and not just because of the tremendous asset he would be. But he had excellent points when he turned us down. This _has_ been a tremendous amount of change all at once for him already. He's wise to take a little time to adjust to the transition. He didn't refuse irrevocably; he said he couldn't do it _now._ I believe we still have a chance to get him to join us after he's processed a little more. And that, Colonel, is why I think he isn't likely to just leave us again. This is the most familiar thing he knows here. We need to give him some space to become more comfortable with us."

"So you're suggesting that we just leave him totally alone?" Wilma couldn't believe it. "Not talk to him, not see him, just let him look around this century until he decides he's ready to join us?"

"Not at all. I simply said we should give him _some_ space, not drop contact entirely. I, for one, intend to stay closely in touch with him. He is going to need some help adjusting to things, and I'm determined that he's going to get it, even if he turns stubborn on us."

Wilma was forced to smile. "I can picture the Captain doing that very well."

"So can I. This is going to be a balancing act between pushing too hard and not being around enough. But I do think for tonight, he needs some time alone to process and, as Dr. Theopolis noted, to sleep. Perhaps realizing that he _isn't_ under surveillance any longer will help him start to relax more in this world."

Wilma looked thoughtful. "I hope so. But I'm not going to let him just disappear again."

"I truly don't believe it will come to that," Huer replied. "Starting tomorrow, we'll try - _gently_ \- to find him a few things to get involved in without making too many demands and seeming like we're trying to control him."

Wilma nodded. "Good night, Dr. Huer."

"Good night, Colonel."

She'd left for her own apartment then, resisting the urge with difficulty to swing by Buck's. Why did it matter so? She listed his obvious talents mentally, agreeing that, as Dr. Huer had said, he would be a tremendous asset to the Directorate. But at the root of it, she knew there was much more. He made her feel like a woman, something that was so foreign to her professional, career-oriented mind that she was left scrambling herself and feeling disoriented and unfamiliar in her own world.

It had taken her a long time to get to sleep, and she hadn't slept that well herself. Now, as she approached Buck's apartment door the next morning, she had to fight back worry that he had already left and that she would never see him again.

Then there he was, opening the door, reassuringly substantial, and she smiled at him. "Good morning, Buck. Would you like to have breakfast with me?"


	3. Chapter 3

They walked side by side through the maze of passages and connecting skywalks between the buildings. Every time they passed a view of the city, Buck slowed and turned to look. The shock never wore off. This, _this_ , was Chicago. Or had been.

"There are a couple of eating areas around the complex," Wilma informed him.

"So the 25th century _does_ have restaurants?" He was glad to hear that. "Is there anything besides food discs?"

She looked at him oddly. "What's wrong with food discs?"

He shook his head. "If you don't know, I couldn't possibly explain it to you."

"They're nutritious, premeasured, convenient, can be taken on trips." She interpreted his expression. "Buck, I told you, we're very tight on food here. That's why we wanted the treaty with the Draconians in the first place, to guard the shipping lanes. We buy the discs from a few galactic suppliers. There _is_ other food, but we don't have much of it. Everybody may have one non-disc meal a week."

"Who's counting?" he asked.

"The computer system. Which reminds me." She stopped and fished a card out of her pocket. "Here. This is your ID."

He looked at it. His name, and it clearly said Defense Directorate at the bottom. His temper flared up. "Now _wait_ a minute. I told you, I'm not . . ."

She cut him off. "I know. That doesn't mean you're a _member_ of the Defense Directorate, just that that's the branch that created this ID card for you. Buck, you _have_ to have ID in this world. Believe me, you'll need it for a lot of things, including eating. That's what keeps track of everybody's food consumption. You'll use it getting clothes and other supplies. You'd need it if you wanted to travel to see another city. You'll definitely need it if you ever want to visit another planet."

He looked at the card dubiously. "I can't join you right now, Wilma. I said that. It's too close to what I was doing; I can't just pretend nothing's happened, forget about the past, and move straight on."

"We heard you. But in this world, without an ID, you're going to have a lot of trouble doing anything or going anywhere. That one actually could be quite useful to you in other ways. Very few people have one from the Directorate; we don't just hand them out casually. If anybody is ever asking you questions, that should end them. It also will grant you entry to your apartment whenever you lock the door."

Resigned, he tucked it into one of his own pockets, but he still didn't like this. They arrived at one of the eating areas then, which looked as familiar as anything so far. There were computer panels on the walls and a few service robots, but the tables around the room were full of people obviously having a meal together, much like they might have 500 years ago.

500 years ago. 504 years ago, to be exact. Another wave of homesickness hit him so powerfully that his stride faltered for a moment.

Wilma dropped into a seat at a table. Several of the other diners noted her arrival, and Buck read their expressions: Recognition, respect. Not much cheerful friendliness, but she was someone of status, and they acknowledged that. He was the unknown factor here and drew more than a few curious looks. He sat down in the chair across from her.

She pulled out her own ID and indicated the slot in the middle of the table. "Here's where you insert your card, and the screen will activate. And you can get something besides food discs if you want."

"Once a week, at least," he grumbled.

"I told you, supplies are short. Actually, you can get more than that, but you'd have to pay for it." The screen lit up, and she indicated it. "Here. You can use my weekly other meal if you want. I hardly ever do."

"You mean you actually _like_ those things?"

"It's an efficient way of eating. Now the screen shows you a few options." He studied the limited choices and selected something called a hot breakfast meal. The screen beeped politely and recorded the choice, and he then passed his new ID to Wilma.

"Feel free to use some of my food discs."

She smiled there - she _could_ smile, he noted; it just took some effort to make her - and she inserted his card. Food discs were the #1 choice listed, top left of the screen. "So everybody automatically gets food discs, plus one other meal a week?"

"As long as you are registered."

"What have I been eating for the last few days then if I just got registered?"

"The . . ." She hesitated. "Certain areas have extra allotments."

"Like the jail system."

"Well, yes. I'm sorry, Buck, but I hope you can understand our position, too. If someone just appeared from space, when you know you have several enemies looking for an opening for an attack, and said he was one of you from 500 years ago, would you believe him without some questions and investigation?"

"No," he admitted. "Although to clarify, I never said I was from 500 years ago. You all told me that. I didn't have any idea what was going on at first." He looked around the familiar yet unfamiliar surroundings again. To distract himself, he picked up a comment she had made earlier. "You mentioned that if you want more than one non-disc meal a week, you have to pay. So you guys do have money?"

"Of course we have money," she said. "The same thing goes for supplies. If you are registered, you are allowed the basic food and clothing and such requirements. If you want anything beyond that, you will pay for it."

"And I assume you get money by working at a job?"

"Or by inheriting it, or as a gift, but most people who want more do it by working. Some are content to take the minimum and leave it at that."

"And do what? Just sit around and play solitaire all day?" With or without the need of money, Buck couldn't imagine doing nothing at all.

"Play what?" She looked confused. At that moment, a service robot came up with a tray. The orders were reversed, of course, since Wilma technically had ordered the hot breakfast meal, and Buck had ordered food discs, but they switched as soon as the robot put the plates down. He eyed the hot breakfast meal. He wasn't entirely sure what it alleged itself to be, but it at least wasn't food discs. He picked up his fork and tried a bite. It was hot, and it was breakfast. There was still a lot left to be desired, but this was better, at least.

A job. Money. He could pretty well guarantee that anything he might be interested in obtaining in this computerized, pre measured and allocated city was classified as an "extra" and would require payment if it existed at all, and much of it probably didn't. He also knew that sitting idly around that apartment for too many days would drive him crazy, but the idea of just switching from the Air Force and NASA over to the Defense Directorate without a hitch still seemed disloyal to him. His world, his people deserved to be mourned. But what on earth was he going to do with himself meanwhile?

"Buck?" He jumped slightly, looking up. "Are you all right? You didn't hear me the first time I said your name."

"Just thinking." He could hear how flat his tone sounded and tried to duck back behind his typical lighthearted front, but it was an effort.

"Do you like the food?"

"It's okay." Which was a step up from totally boring.

Wilma was studying him closely. "I have a few hours before I have to be on duty, and I was wondering if you'd like to go flying this morning. I can show you around local space a little bit, and you could fly a starfighter again."

She had his attention fully with that suggestion. He knew his eyes had lit up, but he couldn't help it; he was at heart a pilot, always had been. Any chance to fly was a good one. His one outing where he was in control with that starfighter had formed the content of his only 25th-century-based dream so far. His shopping plans, not that he had money for them anyway, were postponed at once. "I'd like that."

BRBRBR

The starfighter danced, weaving in and out. They had checked out one with two front seats, and Wilma gave a few explanations of this or that in the craft but did let him do the flying. She had directed him to a small asteroid belt that she said was often used in combat training and then sat back and told him to pretend he was in an engagement. Buck had plunged straight into the belt, heading for what looked like a direct collision before diving underneath at the last second, and he couldn't resist a glance over at his copilot. That maneuver had increased her tension level sharply, but to her credit, she didn't say anything aloud. He swept through the belt, darting up and down as much as side to side, pretending that the space rocks were enemy craft and lining them up in his sights before letting them go.

Plenty on this ship was unfamiliar, but it reacted very much like an Air Force fighter jet, only with a huge increase in speed and maneuverability. It also did a neat roll, pulling easily into and out of that exercise. Ranger 3 had been an exploration ship, built for range and not for combat; the starfighter was infinitely lighter to the controls and more responsive.

This felt more right than anything else so far, in spite of the many sections of the panel that he still didn't understand. The basic controls worked well enough. He finally pulled the ship out of the asteroids into clear space after playing for several minutes, and he looked over at Wilma. She was watching him with open admiration.

"You are good. Better than good. A little bit crazy, maybe, and some of your maneuvers don't make sense, but . . ."

He grinned. "Did I confuse your poor flying computer?"

"You know, Buck, at that battle with the few Draconian fighters that you didn't have time to sabotage before takeoff yesterday, I did order everyone to disengage the combat computers and fly manually."

"No combat computer alive will ever have instincts like a human. Which is why a good human pilot will always be able to beat somebody flying by computer."

"I always thought of it as a mixture of the two, the computer adding extra finesse that the human couldn't."

"And how many ships has that lost you in battles?" he asked. He regretted the crack a moment later, because she obviously mentally knew the total and did realize the number of lives it also represented. Wilma might be obnoxiously by the book, but deep down, she did care.

He looked around, and she asked him, "What is it?"

"I was looking for the moon." He located it and turned the ship in that direction. "Always wanted to go there, and I never did. I can at least do a fly-by." He opened up the throttle, testing the ship's speed. "Pretty impressive. You know, it took us three days to get to the moon."

She reached out. "Over here is the directional finder and the scanners. I realize your opinion of computers, but there are a lot simpler ways to find something than looking around visually. Also, it's a big universe." She showed him the basic navigational charts and how to run scans and search for destinations.

"I was doing fine the other day just flying it on instinct." He was absorbing the direction even while ribbing her a little.

"You got plain lucky."

He shook his head. "Skill, Wilma. Plus a bit of luck, I'll admit, but it's a nice combination. I know I'm a dinosaur by your standards, but I really was trained up to state-of-the-art flying back in my time. The basic principles of a fighter aren't that far off."

"What's a dinosaur?" she asked.

He stared at her, then turned back to the slowly enlarging moon. "Never mind." It had all been destroyed, he realized again. All the history books, too, all the museums. These people didn't know much about anything before the Holocaust and knew precious little about that. He remembered seeing the dinosaur skeletons on display in the museum in Chicago, standing there as a child and looking up in wonder at the Tyrannosaurus rex. He was probably the only source in the universe now that even knew it had ever lived. He'd gone to that museum with his parents many times.

"Buck." He snapped to attention and looked back over at Wilma. "Where did that name come from, anyway? Your official log and mission statement that the NASA officials put in your ship even called you Buck after giving your real name at first. Did anybody ever call you by your full name?"

"Only when I was in trouble growing up," he replied. "I knew when my parents used that name to watch out." She smiled; apparently the concept of the parental tone was something that had stayed constant through the centuries. "Which, believe it or not, wasn't as often as you might think. Mom always said that I was high energy, but I had a good heart."

"I could see that," she said softly.

"I've been called Buck all my life. It started before I was born, actually. I apparently liked to exercise or something before I was born, according to my mother."

"I can imagine that pretty well, too," she replied.

They were almost at the moon, and he pulled the ship around. It took a few minutes even in this fleet craft to do a complete orbit, and then he located the Sea of Tranquility and moved the starfighter in closer.

"Buck," Wilma cautioned, "what are you doing?"

"Looking for something." He'd seen the site pinpointed on maps at NASA many times, but it still was looking like a needle in a haystack. Finally, he spotted the old relic. Less sharp or attentive eyes never would have found it, silver against gray. "There!" He brought the starfighter down even further and did a tight circle around his prize. "See it?"

Wilma straightened up in surprise as she looked out the window. "What is that?"

"It's the remains of the descent stage of the Eagle on Apollo 11. That was the lunar module on the first manned moon landing."

She stared. "Were you on that one?"

"No. I was about 10 years old. I remember watching, though. Everybody watched on TV. And that's when I said that I was going to make it into the space exploration program someday." He looked around. "And I did, even if Ranger's mission went completely haywire."

She didn't understand the last word, he could tell, but she didn't bother to ask for an explanation of his vernacular. She had a bigger question. "Buck, what happened on your flight? How did you get frozen like you did?"

He pulled the starfighter up, gaining more altitude so that he didn't have to pay as close attention to the lunar topography while talking. "There was a new feature on the ship, something they were just developing. I wanted to go ahead and live test it. It had been an option for my mission, but it was really scheduled for the next. I insisted on trying it, and they finally agreed." He shivered, feeling again the icy certainty of death. He'd dreamed this multiple times every night so far. "The stabilizers went badly wrong, and then somehow life support shorted out. Total cockpit heating failure. I hope they realized what was happening and investigated it before trying that with somebody else; I was talking to them as long as I could, telling them as much info as I had. Everything iced up so quickly." He shivered again.

Wilma reached out and touched his arm. "That must have been terrifying, knowing you were about to die. Believing you were, at least."

He nodded. "I don't guess you have records for any flights after mine but before the holocaust? But they knew what I was going to do, and I think they got a good bit during the failure. Surely they wouldn't have just sent the next shuttle to try the same thing." But if they had, was someone else frozen out here? Was he not alone after all? He looked around again, scanning the black blanket of space. But that was useless. Any ship as small as Ranger, lost for as many years on as wide an orbit as Ranger had been knocked into, would be far, far harder to find than the remnants of the landed Eagle in Tranquility Bay. You'd have to stumble across it accidentally, much as the Draconians had with him. No, he knew that NASA had heard enough. They never would have used the automated maneuver series again without serious redesign and extensive testing, and they probably hadn't had time anyway for more flights before the holocaust started.

Nope, he was one of a kind. Old lucky Buck once more defying the odds. He sighed.

"Switch to heading 306, and I'll show you something," Wilma said briskly. He put in the coordinates, using one of the navigational controls she'd so recently explained to him, and then accelerated again, letting the little ship run.

"Where are we going?" He couldn't see anything up ahead visually.

"In about 20 minutes at full speed, we'll get to a stargate."

"A what?"

"A stargate. They're subspace portals. You move between space instead of through it. See, Buck, even with our ships, the distances out in space are tremendous. If you wanted to go to another planet just by flying there, it would be a long trip. The stargates jump you into different quadrants. You select your destination, tell it to the computer planted in each of them, and it moves you over. You can go millions of miles in a split second."

"Wow." He looked around space again. "Space is getting smaller every day. How many other planets have you been to?"

She furrowed her brow in thought. "I honestly don't know. I've never counted."

"It's gotten that routine for you? No excitement, no new world curiosity?"

"Buck, when I do go to another planet, I'm always on some kind of assignment for the Directorate. I have a job that I'm doing."

"That doesn't have to eliminate excitement and curiosity," he countered. "So you live in one of the Directorate apartments, too?"

"Yes."

"Have you got any family? Any man in your life? Close friends you do things with?"

"I'm happy with the job," she answered a bit tightly. "I'm a very successful officer in the Directorate."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Wilma."

"For what? I'll have you know that I'm perfectly satisfied with my life, Buck Rogers."

There were a few minutes of silences as the starfighter plunged on. Wilma was the one to break it. "A large part of my job is training new recruits, developing new pilots. I was thinking, Buck. You really are the best instinctive pilot I've ever seen fly. You still need to learn some things about these ships, but in two weeks, I think you'd be perfectly comfortable flying any sort of ship we've got."

"You think it would take two weeks?" he asked. "Bet I could do it in one."

She smiled but pushed on. "You could teach those recruits a lot, Buck."

"I told you, I'm not joining the Directorate."

"I'm not talking about becoming an official member. We do have several people who come in and provide different specialized services who aren't technically part of us. Call it a consultant if you like. You could . . ." She hesitated, then plunged on with the admission. "You could show them types of flying that I'm not as good at myself. That inventiveness you have."

"You called it craziness a while ago," he reminded her.

"Call it whatever you like, it would make pilots who are much harder to shoot down when they do get into a fight. Would you consider helping me with the cadet training? You weren't an instructor before, so this would be something different."

He didn't reply, eyes front, but his thoughts were whirling. After a moment, she went on. "Think about it, okay? Just sleep on it for a few days before you decide. We would, of course, pay you. And meanwhile, you can keep taking practice flights each morning, getting used to our ships."

"That's not fair," he protested, but he knew that spark was back in his eyes. The thought of regularly working out with something like this starfighter was appealing.

"Just consider it. You don't have to give me an answer right away." She pointed up ahead. "That, Buck, is a stargate."

He studied the glowing diamond up ahead. Wilma reached over to yet another unknown section of the computer console. "This ties directly into the stargate system. You can look up coordinates to any system or quadrant you like, but you'll get to know the most common ones. I'll jump us over to Jupiter, short ride this time. I take it you've never seen Jupiter?"

"If I have, I wasn't awake for it." He studied the diamond ahead with interest. Wilma finished entering the coordinates. "I just fly into the middle of it?"

"Yes. It already knows we're coming." The stargate was glowing brighter, the diamond points seeming to twirl, and Buck saw lines start to reach out from them as he put the starfighter dead center.

In the next moment, there came an almost audible pop, and it felt like something reached down his throat and tried to turn him inside out. For the first time, his control of the fighter wavered, and it wobbled slightly.

"Buck?" He heard Wilma's voice and realized that he had closed his eyes. "Buck? Are you all right?" She reached over to shake his arm.

He opened his eyes, seeing not only her but the huge red bulk of Jupiter out the viewscreen. "Do they always do that?" She seemed completely unphased.

"Do what?"

"It felt like it was trying to turn me inside out."

She was puzzled. "No, it's never done that with me. I've never heard anybody else comment on it, either. Of course, you still might be recovering physically from your ordeal. It will probably get better over time."

"I hope so." He shook his head, then looked at the gas giant. "Wow. So there's Jupiter." He turned the starfighter, following the big planet a short distance around until he found the spot. "Still has the spot, too. That spot is older than I am."

"Let me show you something else. Close range communication is still done by radio waves, but over any distance, we use subspace." She flipped on the correct panel. "That again can cross millions of miles, but you must have the correct channel. This is the code directly to Dr. Huer's lab. Remember it." She tapped it in. "I'll show you how clear it is even at this distance. Colonel Deering to Defense Directorate. Dr. Huer, do you read?"

Dr. Huer picked up promptly, and his voice was indeed remarkably clear, not a trace of static. "Yes, Colonel. What is it?"

"Nothing urgent. I'm showing Buck how subspace communication and the stargate system work. We're over by Jupiter at the moment."

His voice held a dry amusement. "That's fine, but are you aware that your class of recruits starts in 20 minutes?"

Wilma was as flustered as Buck had seen her yet. "In 20 minutes? But it can't . . .I don't believe it." She looked accusingly at the chronometer on the console. "I lost track of time. I never lose track of time."

"I'll inform the class that you will be late, but it would be convenient if you showed up before the period was over."

"Yes, of course. We're on our way back right now. Deering out." She snapped the channel out, and Buck laughed out loud. "Oh, stop it. This isn't funny. I have responsibilities, and I should have kept an eye on the chronometer." She shook her head.

Buck had already turned toward the stargate again, abandoning Jupiter, but he still had the grin on his face. "Relax, Wilma. I doubt there's anybody who hasn't been late to class a few times. The cadets will understand."

"I am _not_ late to class," she said frostily. Her lips were tight. As they approached the stargate, she activated the computer link to it again and typed in a code. "This is the code for the location closest to Earth. Remember it. From any stargate, that will bring you back home."

The second trip through the stargate felt much like the first to Buck, only better because he was expecting it. He did manage to hold the stick steady this time, though he still closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them, Wilma was watching him closely. "No better the second time?"

"No. Exactly how long would it take me to fly around in your century while avoiding those things?"

"You'd be several millennia older in no time. You'll get used to it, Buck."

Earth was visible up ahead, a slowly growing marble. He kept the starfighter to full speed, but Wilma was wishing for more, he could tell. All the way back, she was still annoyed at herself, and the general conversation of their flight so far dropped into silence. She sat there in the copilot's seat and fumed at failing a responsibility. Buck for his part had plenty to think about, too. Neither of them said anything else until contacting the Directorate hanger for permission to land.


	4. Chapter 4

As the hatch opened on the starfighter, Buck saw Dr. Huer's tall figure approaching. Wilma, still thoroughly annoyed with herself, jumped out and stalked off at full walking speed, not running but covering a lot of ground. Buck dropped from the ship to the floor and watched her frustrated exit with a smile.

"Good morning, Buck." Dr. Huer came up next to him.

"Morning." He nodded toward Wilma. "She doesn't do that too often, does she?"

"Lose track of time? I've never known her to before." Dr. Huer looked at the starfighter with a trace of wistfulness before turning his attention back to the man before him. "Did you have a nice flight?"

"Yes. Pretty nifty ship you have there. She was showing me some of the other computer systems on it, too." He didn't mention her job offer right then, but it was still at the front of his mind. "Tell me something, doc. Exactly how many people who _aren't_ members of the Defense Directorate do you let take a starfighter out for a couple of hours' joyride?"

"You have the honor of being the first," Dr. Huer confirmed. Buck had figured as much; in whatever currency applied here, those craft had to be worth millions, and he knew that the new Earth wasn't rolling in money. The fleet in this hanger bay represented a massive part of whatever budget they had.

"And do you have other random people living in the Directorate apartments, or am I the first one there, too?" His annoyance was rising a little.

"There have been a few of those but not many," Dr. Huer said, still perfectly calmly.

Buck paced a restless circle. "Look, if you all are trying to push me into a decision I told you I wasn't going to make, forget it."

"Buck, we aren't trying to push you into anything. I do respect your reasons and even agree that they are wise ones. But keep in mind that you saved all of us yesterday. We are very much obligated to you, not the other way around. Putting you up in an apartment was the least we could do, and we aren't expecting anything in return for it. I wish you'd accept more of a reward than that."

"I don't need a reward. It's my planet, too. At least it was once." The homesickness settled around his shoulders again like a blanket as he remembered the city. They'd had another very good view of it on approach to the hanger. Nothing about this, his home town, was familiar.

Dr. Huer came up beside him. "It's still your planet, too, Buck. We're glad to have you here." His tone changed, again that dry note of humor peeking through. "As for letting you take a starfighter out this morning, you were perfectly free to say no."

Buck rolled his eyes and started to walk off himself. Dr. Huer amiably caught up with him, seeming unhurried even while covering ground quickly, and they had almost exited the hanger when Buck's eye was caught by Ranger 3 in a corner. He stopped as a sudden thought occurred to him. There _was_ something from the 20th century here in this world, and those things by all rights already were his, no purchase required. What had they done with them?

"I know you searched my ship clear down to stripping the instruments. There were a few things on board, personal items, and they weren't even hidden. We were allowed to take a couple of things with us on flights, sort of mementos. So where are they?" he demanded. "You people had to have found them. Those were _mine._ If I'm not under arrest any longer, I should have them back."

Dr. Huer was completely caught off guard, he could tell. "You certainly should. Nothing had been mentioned to me in reports, but I'll get to the bottom of that immediately." He picked up speed himself, going to a communications panel at the side of the vast room. His voice as he had a quick exchange with some underling was as annoyed as Buck had ever heard it yet. Some of Buck's own irritation soothed. They hadn't been deliberately holding his belongings back from him, at least not Dr. Huer and Wilma. It had happened elsewhere in the channels. In any century's military, he knew how easily that could occur.

Dr. Huer finished his short conversation. "They did find a few things, and they will be brought to my computer lab at once. I apologize, Buck. If I'd known, I would have seen that you got them before, even when you were still suspected. The only finds they reported to me as significant were the log and official mission statement from NASA and the transmitter the Draconians planted on your ship. I assure you, I will have a discussion with them about this."

Buck relaxed a little, Dr. Huer's obvious annoyance on his behalf taking away some of his own. "I realize you weren't the one to search the ship yourself," he said. "You didn't know. I can't believe I didn't think of it until just now myself."

"You've been kept a little busy since arriving in our world. If you'll come with me, I promise you'll get them back right away. I was hoping you'd accompany me back to the lab anyway. I have something else for you, and then, after we have a chance for lunch, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Buck followed him out of the hanger. "You know, Doc, I'm starting to feel like I'm being handed off from one keeper to another. Wilma this morning, now you, then whoever."

Huer was back to his usual unruffled attitude. "Not at all, Buck. The Colonel and I are very busy; we'll both be tied up the rest of the day. As for this person I want to introduce you to, that will only take five minutes. I only ask you to meet him; what you do with the rest of the afternoon is completely up to you."

"So who is this as-yet-unidentified person?"

"Someone I think you'll find very interesting. And I'm positive it will be mutual; he'll be absolutely delighted to meet you."

Buck glanced at the older man. "Now you're just trying to get my curiosity up."

Huer gave him a friendly smile. "Is it working?"

Buck rolled his eyes. "It's a conspiracy," he muttered. "You and Wilma both, only her bait was flying."

"Buck, we do like you and hope you'll stay around, but I meant what I said. You are perfectly free to make your own choice. You are no longer under any kind of restraint or suspicion. In fact, I apologize for pushing you right then to join the Defense Directorate yesterday. You'd already been through more than enough this week, and the timing was poor. My enthusiasm got in the way of my better judgment momentarily. I am glad you want to take some time to adapt to this world and consider things."

They passed through another skywalk between buildings, and Buck once again looked out at the city. "So," he asked, "how is Earth doing? Wilma said you'd had problems with pirates, but obviously, that was the Draconians. With them out of the way, are things going to improve for you?"

"The problems with the shipping lanes and food supplies should definitely be better. In the overall scale, we have rebuilt remarkably from near-total devastation, and I think the future looks bright. Of course, we still have shortages, and we still have enemies." He sighed. "And, of course, we also have sections of the Council who think that the Defense Directorate takes up more than its share of funding. But we have enough threats come up even without considering the false pirates that I feel a strong Defense Directorate is absolutely essential for our safety."

Buck smiled. "Now that's something that hasn't changed. We were having that same debate back in my day. People thinking too much was spent on defense and that if we'd just disband the military or at least greatly scale back, there would be more money for other things and also that the chances for peace would greatly improve."

"That does sound familiar," Dr. Huer agreed. "Of course, there are those who blame weapons for the holocaust, too, so therefore, they say all weapons must be a bad thing."

Buck shook his head. "You have to defend yourself, and with some enemies, the only thing they understand is your ability to fight back if they did attack. Plus, in my day at least, we also were exploring, not just fighting. Ranger was an exploration vessel."

"We do some of that, too. I wish we could do more. Hopefully soon. Things are improving for Earth, Buck." They arrived at Dr. Huer's computer lab, and he activated the door. "Did Colonel Deering give you your ID, Buck?"

"Yes," he confirmed, but his tone was a little annoyed again.

Dr. Huer smiled at him. "You do need that to do anything these days. You'd need it in any other city, too. Now then." He went to the central table and pushed his own ID into a slot, and a small drawer beneath the table top opened. He collected a handful of small cubic chips and then pushed the drawer back in. "This is for you. It isn't from the Defense Directorate, and they don't even know about it. This is not official in any way. Purely from me; Colonel Deering doesn't know I'm doing this, either."

Buck took the chips and studied them, shifting them in his hand. "What is it?"

"Those are credits. It's the currency we use."

Buck's independence burst into flames. "Now wait a minute."

Dr. Huer held up a hand. "Hear me out, Buck, please. This is _not_ a gift, nor a bribe. It's a loan that I personally am making to you, and you may pay it back whenever you are able. No time limit, but I have no doubt it will be returned to me."

Buck was completely confused now. "Why?"

"Because as I said, I want you to be free to make your choice. Nothing preventing that, not financially or otherwise. I will tell you that that that is enough for two tickets to any other city on Earth on the intraplanetary shuttle system. If you want to look around a few other cities and see what else is available to you, you now have that ability. If you choose to, you can leave New Chicago on the next flight out. Or you can buy some things here if there's anything that you want to help get you settled that is available in this world. Whatever you decide. It's up to you."

At that moment, the door chime sounded. Dr. Huer went over to activate the panel, and a uniformed man stepped in. He was walking cautiously, so obviously entering the office of the annoyed brass that Buck almost felt sorry for him. He was carrying a small bag. "Here are the personal items from the derelict ship, sir."

Dr. Huer nodded at Buck. "They are his property. As they have been all along."

"Yes, sir. Sorry for the delay, sir." The man handed Buck the bag, then turned sharply and left.

Dr. Huer sighed. "I will be sure to look into this, Buck, but that man was just the messenger. He isn't the one who decided to withhold those; no point in coming down harshly on him. Again, I apologize."

Buck put the handful of credits into his pocket to free his other hand and then opened the bag slowly, reverently. Jennifer's picture. He looked at it for a full minute, then set it aside. A small flower that he had taken from his mother; that, of course, was in awful, freeze-dried and then thawed condition, but the shape and substance was still recognizable. A frame copy of the poem "High Flight" by John Magee, fighter pilot in World War II, that his sister had give him back years before Ranger when he had first been in flight school at the Air Force. He read it again. He wasn't much for poetry, but this he could have quoted by heart.

 _"Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,_

 _And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;_

 _Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth_

 _Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things_

 _You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung_

 _High in the sunlit silence. Hovering there,_

 _I've chased the shouting wind along and flung_

 _My eager craft through footless halls of air._

 _Up, up the long delirious burning blue_

 _I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,_

 _where never lark, or even eagle, flew;_

 _and, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod_

 _the high untrespassed sanctity of space,_

 _put out my hand and touched the face of God."_

Buck set it aside on the table. Three things. There was this remaining from his world that was truly _his_.

Dr. Huer had remained discreetly silent and several feet away. When Buck finally looked up at him, he asked softly, "Is that all of it?"

Buck nodded. "We couldn't take much."

"I'm glad you've got that much," Dr. Huer said. "I am sorry, Buck, truly sorry for what you've been forced into. This situation was none of your choosing."

"Yeah." Buck slowly packed the three items back in the bag. Dr. Huer didn't ask to see them.

So he wasn't totally broke in this new world. He owned three things. Well, that and Dr. Huer's loan of credits, but that wasn't his. Like everything else in this century so far, that might have been assigned to him or loaned to him, but it wasn't truly _his_.

A thought suddenly struck him. He looked up at the older man, who was standing on the other side of the table with unmistakeable sympathy on his face. "Actually, there is something you people could give me. You said you wished I'd accept some kind of reward."

"Yes," Dr. Huer agreed. "You've certainly earned it. What would you like?"

"I want Twiki."

"Twiki?"

"Yes. Remember him, little silver guy? I want him. Not assigned to me, not temporarily. I want him to be _mine_. My property. And if I decide to pack up and go somewhere else, I can take him with me."

Dr. Huer had looked startled at the request at first, but now he was starting to smile. "I'm sure that can be arranged. All right, Buck. We'll give you Twiki. He's helping Dr. Theopolis with something today, but I'll have him sent over to your apartment this afternoon once he's finished."

"Great. And Doc, ask him first. I don't want to own him if he doesn't want me to."

"I will, but I'm sure that won't be a problem. He's come to admire you greatly the last few days. We all have." Dr. Huer looked at the chronometer on the computer panel. "Now, we'd better be getting to lunch. This person I want you to meet will be expecting us at 1:00, and I have several duties myself right after that."

"Who is he?" Buck was getting more and more curious.

"Wait and see," Dr. Huer replied.

Buck laughed. "I wish I'd known you when you were younger, Doc. I think we would have had a lot in common. We could have had some great adventures together."

"I think so, too," Dr. Huer agreed.

"Although technically, I guess I am several times your age," Buck recalled. They left the office together, chatting amiably, though Buck retained his iron grip on that bag that held the past.

BRBRBR

At 1:00, Dr. Huer finished leading Buck through yet another maze of hallways to a closed door. The presumed visitor was waiting eagerly in front of it, all but vibrating with an enthusiasm that couldn't be concealed. "Dr. Junius, this is Buck Rogers," Dr. Huer said. "Buck, Dr. Junius is the head of our archives."

"Archives?" Buck asked.

Dr. Junius had surged forward and latched onto both of his hands, including the one with the bag. "Yes, yes, we have an archives. At least, we are _trying_ to have an archives, but there is so much unknown, so much that has been lost. And so few people seem truly interested in history, but it _must_ be preserved. It simply must. That's a part of civilization, you know. And . . ."

Dr. Huer politely interrupted, which Buck was starting to feel might be the only way to get a word in edgewise. "Well, I'll leave you two alone. I have duties to attend to. Have a pleasant rest of the day, Buck, and I hope to see you tomorrow sometime." He turned and walked briskly away.

"You mean there are some artifacts from before the holocaust?" Buck asked.

"Yes, yes, almost all of it from before the holocaust, but there are no _records_. No knowledge about what most of these things even were. I am trying, truly I'm trying, but so few records remain. I'm the first person who has tried to create a department for this and some sort of organization, but I must confess, I'm totally confused sometimes. And then Dr. Huer told me this morning about you. You actually _are_ from the 20th century? Before the holocaust?"

"Yes," Buck said. "Where are these things?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, here we are, standing right out here in the hall instead of going in. I'm being a poor host, I'm afraid, but I was just so excited."

"I never could have guessed," Buck noted. In the next moment, his breath caught as Dr. Junius inserted his ID card and opened the door they were standing outside. The big room was a complete jumble, as if 5,000 20th-century garage sales had met up with a tornado. Buck took two steps in and stared.

"If you could help me at all, even just identify one or two things, I'd be forever in your debt," Dr. Junius prattled on. "Accurate labels are _so_ important, you know. History must be preserved. So tell me, Buck Rogers, does anything here look at all familiar to you?"

Buck smiled.

BRBRBR

It was well on into evening before Buck returned to his apartment. He and Dr. Junius hadn't even stopped work to eat, simply grabbing a few food discs on the go which for once Buck had hardly noticed the taste of. Only his own exhaustion, which finally became obvious even to his ebullient partner in history, had stopped them at all. He wondered if Dr. Junius himself would get any sleep tonight or would simply keep working with labels and records.

Now, Buck stopped outside his apartment door and considered his double-handed load. He had not only the bag of personal items from Ranger but a few other things from the archives which there had been duplicates of. "Of course," Dr. Junius told him, "it's illegal for any of this to be sold or transferred. It is government property now, and the general public isn't supposed to possess it. But I'm sure in the circumstances, we can list this as a long-term loan or such. For you, Buck, there has to be an exception. There simply must."

Finally, in the middle of figuring out what to put down, his tired brain remembered that the door wasn't locked. He'd probably better start locking it from here on, but this morning when he'd left with Wilma, he hadn't even had ID yet. Right now, he shouldn't have to insert his card, just push the panel switch. He gave a stab at it with his elbow.

The door swished open, revealing a welcome glow of lights below a gleaming head of silver. "Bedebedebede. Where have you been, Buck? I've been waiting for you!"

"Hello, Twiki. Sorry, I got busy." Buck deposited his load on the table and then turned to survey his new property - and friend. "So, partner, I take it you don't mind joining up with me?"

"Bedebedebede. We'll make a great team, Buck."

Buck gave the silver head a pat. "I think so, too. Now, let's start to sort out some of this stuff."

They didn't finish all of it, but they did get the items from Ranger placed and a few of the artifacts, including a clock that, once wound, still ticked. Buck had difficulty at first figuring out how to drive nails into a metal wall when he lacked both hammer and nails, but Twiki had disappeared for about an hour to some computerized domain and had returned with a powerful glue which did the trick. Buck fell asleep on the couch by the time Twiki returned, though the door awoke him, and at the little ambuquad's suggestion, they didn't keep working much longer.

Twiki went into recharge mode, and Buck settled down on his bunk, his mind spinning with all the ins and outs of this day. The tick of the clock in the dimly lit room was reassuringly familiar. He could leave, he realized. Nothing was preventing him, not even money now. He could leave the Directorate complex tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever he wanted. The choice truly was his.

And maybe, as long as the choice remained open to leave, he would stay here. At least for the moment.

He only jolted out of sleep from dreams of the past twice that night.


End file.
